It’s 1975 or maybe 76 though it doesn’t really matter
Sixteen or seventeen years old with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail ala Gregg Allman
Hanging out with my buddies on a street corner in Bay Ridge
A pint of Southern Comfort stashed away in my back pocket
A nickel or dime bag of weed tucked away in the front
The sound of screeching tires and the glare of flashing lights
A finger points from the back seat of the patrol car and a voice cries out “That’s him!”
Pushed up against the back of a car, handcuffed and searched
Taken for a ride to the station house and questioned over and over
Scared shitless and later chained to others much older than me to spend a night in “The Tombs”
Turn left, turn right and face forward and fingerprints and mug shots are taken
There's cold bologna sandwiches and piss warm Kool-Aid for dinner and little sleep
Powdered scrambled eggs and watery milk for breakfast and soon it’s time for arraignment court
The charges are assault, grand larceny and robbery and a plea of not guilty soon follows and bail is posted
My parents are in the courtroom and the disappointment is etched on their face for all to see
There’s nothing but silence at home and my explanations and insistence on innocence fall on deaf ears
They're already comparing me to someone else and I can’t say I blame them
But soon, the facts come out, I was home when the alleged crime took place
The charges are soon dropped and it was deemed a simple case of mistaken identity
(I actually knew the guy who did the crime, he never did wind up getting caught)
But the damage has already been done and I think they wonder to themselves if it’s only a matter of time.
It’s been close to forty years now and the sting has faded and even though my record was wiped clean
my memories haven't and in some strange way that I can't put my finger on,
somehow things haven’t been the same since.
I don't care how innocent you are or you think you might be
In some peoples eye's you'll always be guilty of something, maybe even in your own
It’s funny how one or two events can really shape a lifetime
I guess you either get over them or learn to live with them
Or a little of both.
How's that for some shit?